


a night at the opera

by goodbye_yellowbrickroad



Series: good old-fashioned lover boys [2]
Category: Bohemian Rhapsody (Movie 2018), Queen (Band)
Genre: 1971, A Lot of Plot, Anal Sex, Angst, Bullying (mentioned), M/M, Marijuana, Riding, homophobia (lightly touched upon), oral sex (mentioned), sex while high
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-20
Updated: 2019-01-20
Packaged: 2019-10-13 04:57:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,306
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17481605
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/goodbye_yellowbrickroad/pseuds/goodbye_yellowbrickroad
Summary: They didn’t speak for a long while; the only sounds filling the room were that of skin slapping skin blended with deep, guttural moans that harmonized with high pitched ones but those sounds, they filled Roger’s shabby little bedroom like the grandest symphony in the world.





	a night at the opera

**Author's Note:**

> as promised, a sequel to "just take me back to yours that will be fine". it did take a tad longer than i had expected it to, but i've also been back at college so life is hectic. but here you are! i hope you enjoy! :)

“I’ve found someone,” Brian said, leaning in close and speaking next to Freddie’s ear.

Freddie looked up at him. “Congratulations, Bri, I’m so happy you’ve finally found yourself a girlfriend. I hope you two will be very happy together. Do you think you’ll propose anytime soon? Maybe your mum will finally stop asking when she’s going to get her grandchildren.”

Brian rolled his eyes. “You think you’re funny, Fred.”

“I don’t  _ think _ I’m  _ funny, _ ” Freddie chuckled. “No, no, Brian, I  _ know  _ that I am  _ hilarious. _ ”

Brian said. “Freddie, I’ve found us a bassist.”

“Wha—” Freddie jumped to his feet, grinning. “Really, Brian?”

“Yeah!” Brian nodded. 

“Bri, that’s amazing!” Freddie said, practically jumping up and down. “Is he good? We’ll all have to hear him, of course.”   
“Well, I’ve found someone to audition for us, anyway,” Brian said, nodding. “He’s here to see the set, meet us afterward. He’s said that he’ll audition tomorrow.”

“That’s amazing!” Freddie said, laughing for joy. “Oh, god, finally! I mean, I hope he’s good, I haven’t actually heard him play just yet… But I have hope! We need to tell Roger — where is he?”

“He’s getting a drink, I’ll go find him,” said Brian. “He needs to come and get ready for the set, anyhow.”

Across the bar that the band was playing in that night, Roger was indeed leaning against the counter and flirting with the girl who was tending the bar. Music soared on the air, filling every corner and crevice of the room. 

Roger sipped his drink deeply and smacked his lips. “Ah,” he sighed happily. “Good stuff.”

The barkeep smiled politely and continued on to the next customer. 

“Roger?” someone said from behind him and he whipped around, mouth falling open. “Well, how about that. Fancy seeing you here.”

“J- _ John? _ ” Roger spluttered. 

John laughed. “What’re the odds, right? But hey, your nose is looking much better.”

“Wha-what are you doing here?” Roger asked, looking left and right, paranoid that someone would see them, that someone would  _ know. _

“Could ask you the same,” John chuckled. “I’m here to see a band, actually.”

“What?” Roger said, eyes growing wide. “Wh-which band?”

“I don’t know, to be quite honest,” John said and he shrugged his shoulders. “Can’t remember the name. I was invited to come and listen to some band tonight because I’m going to —”

“Jesus,” Roger sighed, cutting him off. “Well, I — I gotta go.”

“Wait, Roger,” John said. He reached out and grabbed him by the wrist. “Can we talk?” he asked, and when Roger just tried to pull his wrist out of his grasp, shaking his head and making unintelligible noises, John said, “Please. I haven’t been able to get you off my mind. Can we just talk?”

“ _ John, _ ” Roger hissed. “I can’t. Not here.”

“Why?” John furrowed his brow. “Why not? Roger, what’s wrong?”

“I’m working,” Roger huffed. 

“Working?” John raised his eyebrows. He looked around at the men and women, sweating and dancing and drinking, and he looked back at Roger, unconvinced. “How exactly are you working right now?” 

“I  _ told  _ you,” Roger hissed. “I’m in a band. I dropped out of school. This is my job —  _ this  _ is my work! So I can’t have you around me here because if anyone suspects anything then —” he looked from side to side, checking again to make sure no one was listening in on them. He dropped his voice to barely even a whisper. “Oh, god, if anyone figures me out then I am done. If anyone figures me out then — then the  _ band.  _ The  _ band _ would be  _ over. _ ” 

“I — I’m sorry,” John said, releasing Roger’s hand from his grasp. “B-but could we talk? Sometime? I can give you my number and we — we can talk. I wanted to give you my number last week, b-but I was… you know, I was really out of it after we —”

“I know, I know, I know,” Roger said quickly. “Okay, fine, yeah. We can talk. Some other time.”

“Okay, uh, do you have a pen?” John asked, picking up a napkin off of the bar. “So I can give you my —”

“No, not  _ here, _ ” Roger practically growled, ripping the napkin out of John’s hand. “Oh, Christ,” he sighed, palm against his temple. “Look, I’ll be in the dressing room in the back after my set, okay? They give me and the other boys one of the rooms to share. Come see me there later tonight, alright?”

John nodded, looking taken aback. “O-okay, I will. Uh, good luck on your —”

“Roger!” came another voice. “There you are, I’ve been looking for —” Brian stopped in his tracks. “Oh, hey! Do you two know each other?”

“What? Brian? Hi,” Roger said. “Wh-why would you think we know each other, hm?”

“Uh, because you’re talking to each other?” Brian asked, eyes narrowed in confusion. 

“Oh, r-right,” Roger said, nodding.

“You two know each other?” John asked, pointing back and forth between Brian and Roger.

Roger looked at John. “Yeah, of course  _ we  _ know each other. Why? Do  _ you  _ know each other?”

“We’ve known each other briefly, yes,” Brian said, grinning. “Roger, I’ve got great news!” he said, grasping his friend by his shoulders and shaking him a little bit. “Um, how do you and John know one another?”

“Oh, uh —” John began but Roger quickly cut him off.

“We met at a little hole in the wall bar,” Roger said. “A little while back, downtown London. The Gold Boys were playing, you remember them?”

“Oh, yeah, they’re good!” Brian said, nodding and still grinning. “So did you know that John’s a musician, then? Did he mention it?”

“He did,” Roger said at the same time that John said, “Yeah, I did.”

Brian grinned. “Yeah, so —”

“You’re a guitarist, right?” Roger said. 

“I —” John began but Brian cut him off.

“He does bass, to be specific!” Brian exclaimed happily. “John’s going to audition for us tomorrow and if we’re all in agreement then he’s going to be our new bassist! He’ll join the band, we  _ finally  _ won’t be one man short!”

“You’re — you’re in the band with Brian?” John asked.

“You’re auditioning for us?” Roger raised his eyebrows. 

“It’s going to be incredible!” Brian cried and he looked like he could start jumping for joy. “Right, come on with me now, Roger. We’ve got to get ready for the set.” He started backing toward the dressing room. “John, we’ll see you after we play! Enjoy the show!” he said and took off through the crowd.

“Um —” Roger said, glancing at John. He shook his head. “See you after our set, I guess,” he huffed and chased after Brian. 

***

Freddie, Brian, and Roger came stumbling back into their dressing room built for one and and granted to all three of them to share. They tripped over their feet and their belongings but they laughed and whooped and cheered. 

“That was damn good, lads!” Roger congratulated his friends, lifting a can of beer into the air as if to toast them all. “To us!” he said and drank.

“We were beautiful up there tonight, darlings,” Freddie sighed, draping himself over a chair made of plastic. “Absolutely gorgeous!”

“Wasn’t it wonderful?” Brian nodded.

“ _ We  _ were wonderful!” Freddie cried.

“Exactly!” Brian grinned. “Oh, yes! This is great — this is  _ amazing!  _ Surely John will be glad to join our band after seeing us play like that!”

Roger’s face dropped. He’d been so high on his adrenaline rush, so buzzed by the alcohol. He’d completely forgotten about the predicament at hand. But Brian had just reminded him and now his worries were flooding back into his body, sobering him up faster than a drink of water ever could. 

“Um, about that —” Roger began and Brian looked into Roger’s face expectantly, grinning from ear to ear. “Yeah, about John. See, I think that we should, uh —”

Before Roger could figure out just what he thought the band should do, there was a small knock on the door that sounded polite and almost nervous. Not one of the three men inside of that dressing room knew how the sound of someone knocking on the door could, in and of itself, sound as if it were polite and nervous, but there it was all the same. 

“It’s open,” Brian said. 

The door swung slowly open and there, in the doorway, was John. 

Freddie sat up a little straighter, finger on his chin, looking curious.

Brian smiled.

Roger’s heart dropped into his stomach. 

John waved his hand in greeting. “Erm, hi. May I — may I come in?”

Roger was holding onto the back of a chair and he glanced down to see that his knuckles had turned completely white. His heart beat so hard against his ribcage he thought it might burst right through his chest.

“Yes, of course,” Brian said, nodding happily. “Come in, come in.” 

John smiled and nodded once. He stepped into the room, though there was hardly any room at all for him to so much as stand. He closed the door behind him and then he stood there, silently, without a word.

Freddie got to his feet, slinking his way over the bands’ belongings, across the tiny room. He stopped in front of John. “Hello,” he said, extending a hand for John to shake. “Pleasure to meet you. I’m Freddie Mercury.” 

“Very nice to meet you,” John said, shaking his head. 

“Hmm,” Freddie hummed, looking over John’s hand while he shook it in greeting. “You have a nice, strong grip.” He nodded. “I like that.”

“Thank you,” John said uncertainly. 

“How did you like our set?” Freddie tilted his head. 

“It was alright, yeah,” John said, nodding slowly. 

“Alright?” Roger asked, arms crossed. 

“Just alright?” Freddie questioned. He raised one eyebrow. 

“Well, you need a bassist, is all,” John amended. 

“And that’s where you come in,” Brian piped up. “We’ve got this conference space at Imperial College, we use it to rehearse. Could you be there tomorrow? Around, say, noon? That is, if you’d still like to audition. If you want to be that bassist that we need.”

“Yeah, why not?” John said, shrugging. “I’ll be there.”

“Excellent!” Brian exclaimed. “Then I suppose we’ll be seeing you tomorrow. I, for one, am ready for bed so I’ll be off. See you all tomorrow, then.” He bid them all a goodnight as he gathered his belongings into his bag and then he headed off. 

“And what are you up to tonight, Mr… what was it, again?” Freddie asked. 

“Don’t think I ever said,” John said. “It’s Deacon. John Deacon.”

“Hm,” Freddie hummed. “Sort of a bland name, isn’t it?”

John shrugged. “I like it. And it’s suited me well enough for the past twenty years.”

“Yes, I’m sure it has,” Freddie said almost flirtatiously, smirking all the while, and John didn’t really know what that was supposed to mean. To be fair, Roger didn’t either. That’s just what it was like, though, trying to have a conversation with Freddie Mercury. “Well, I hope you won’t take offense if I start calling you by a nickname. Something that I find more  _ interesting. _ ”

“Like — like what?” John asked, eyebrows raised. 

“I haven’t decided yet,” Freddie told him thoughtfully. “But I’m sure that I will think of something.” He smiled. “Goodnight to the both of you. I will see you tomorrow at noon.”

“Yes,  _ noon,  _ Fred,” Roger called after him as he went. “That means  _ be there  _ at noon, not get out of bed at noon!”

Freddie snapped the door shut behind himself. 

“So about last week,” John said.    
“Hush!” Roger hissed. “We don’t know if he’s gone yet.”

“Right,” John said quickly. “Sorry.”

Roger sighed and crossed the room, opening the door and sticking his head out into the hallway. He looked both left and right and only once he was certain that Freddie was gone did he close the door and turn round to face John once more. “John,” he said in a very serious tone. “You cannot audition for the band.”

John blinked. “I — I’ve already said that I will.”

“ _ John  _ —”

“Please, Roger, you’ve got to know that I haven’t come to mess with your life,” John said. “I — I didn’t mean to — I mean, if I’d know that it was your band I’d be auditioning for then I wouldn’t have agreed.”

“Just say that you’ve changed your mind, then.” Roger crossed his arms. 

John frowned. 

Roger sighed. “This sucks so much…” he sank into a chair, face in his hands.

John didn’t answer, he only frowned a little deeper.

“I should get going,” Roger said, rising to his feet. 

“Wait, Roger,” John said. “You said we could talk?”

Roger sighed again. “Not tonight, John.”

“But you said —”

“ _ Not tonight, _ ” Roger snapped.

John took a step back, away from him Roger, instinctively. “O-okay… Are you cross with me now?” 

Roger halted in his movements toward the door. He looked into John’s face, into his sad eyes. “I — I’m  _ not  _ cross with you _ , _ John,” Roger sighed yet again, he ran his hands over his tired face. “No. Not cross with you. I’m sorry. I’m being a dick, I shouldn’t be taking this all out on you. I mean this — this — it isn’t  _ your  _ fault in way, shape, or form, it — it’s that I need to go home and just — just process it all.” 

John frowned, but he nodded. “Makes sense. We, uh, don’t have to have that talk tonight.”

Roger offered him a tight smile. “Thanks.” 

“Yeah,” John said. “I’m sorry this is really hard for you,” he said shaking. 

“John,” Roger said. “Please don’t — don’t take all of this the wrong way. I had fun with you last week.”

John smiled. “Yeah, I had fun with you, too. A lot of fun.”

“We can, uh,” Roger paused, putting his hand around the door knob, “talk tomorrow? After your audition. We’ll hang back, leave after Bri and Fred so they don’t see us going together. We can go to mine.”

“That sounds lovely,” John said, smiling.

“Excellent.” Roger nodded.

*** 

_ Shit,  _ thought Roger.  _ Shit, shit, shit! This is bad. _

And it was. It was so bad. Because John was so good. John was really good and the band really needed a bassist and this was so, _so_ bad.

As John finished, unstrapping his bass guitar from his bad and setting it down on a table nearby, Roger sat with his feet up on a chair in front of him, arms crossed, and he didn’t say a word. He just looked at John thoughtfully, carefully, unsure of what to do next. Freddie, on the other hand, didn’t look at John at all. He didn’t talk either, of course, he kept his head down, writing at a ferocious pace in the little notebook that he had in his lap. John was looking nervous and Brian was the only one who actually spoke to the poor lad; “Very good job,” he said. “We’ll be in touch.”

John nodded once. “Thank you,” he said to Brian and stood there awkwardly without a word. 

“So, erm,” Brian said, folding his hands in his lap. “I don’t want to be rude or anything but, uh, would you mind heading out now? We need to discuss and just, you know, make sure that we’re all on the same page.”

“Oh, uh,” John began and he paused, looking to Roger with a sliver of panic in his eyes. “Yeah, yeah. Of course.” 

“Great, thanks so much, John,” Brian said, smiling. “Talk to you soon, then.”

“Talk to you soon...” John said awkwardly. He nodded and waved, wring his hands together as he went to the table nearby and tried to gather all his things together as quickly as he could. “Good— uh, b-bye,” John stammered, waving his hands again and stumbling out the door. 

“He’s g—” Brian began but Freddie held up his hands and clapped sharply to silence his bandmate. “Um, have you got something to say, Fred?”

Freddie held a finger to his lips to let his bandmate know to be quiet, then he returned to his little notebook.

“Is this going to take a while, or…?” Roger asked, crossing his arms. 

“Sshhh!” Freddie glared at Roger and he returned, once more, to his notebook. 

“Right, so that’s a yes,” Roger sighed. “It  _ is  _ going to be a while.”   
“Food, then?” Brian suggested.

Freddie looked up from his little notebook and said, “He’s good.”

“Yeah,” Brian said. “We know. So, food?”

Roger ran his hand across the back of his neck, wiping away the beads of sweat that were forming there. How was this happening? What were the odds? He slept with a guy who cleaned up his bloody nose and that guy just so happened to be a bassist and the band just so happened to need someone who played bass and Brian just happened to meet this guy and — argh! Why him? Why Roger? He was a good person — or, at least, Roger liked to  _ think  _ that he was a good person. Why did bad things have to happen to good people?

Freddie rose to his feet. “I’m absolutely famished.”

Roger sighed. “Yeah, I could eat.”

“Right, let’s go.”

***

“He’s good,” Freddie said. “Quite good. But —”

Brian huffed. “But  _ what,  _ Fred? He’s really good! And we’re desperate.”

“Yes,  _ but  _ —” Freddie began, but again Brian cut him off.    
“Beggars cannot be choosers!” Brian exclaimed. 

“Brian, my dear, will you  _ please  _ settle down and listen to me for just a moment,” Freddie sighed. “My  _ goodness, _ ” he huffed out, rolling his eyes dramatically. “Now, as I was saying, he’s good.  _ But…  _ something will have to be done about his name.”

“His name?” Brian raised an eyebrow.

“Here he goes again,” Roger sighed.    
“Yes, his  _ name,  _ Brian.” Freddie sipped his drink. “I mean, John Deacon… it’s rather bland, don’t you think so?”

“It’s… a name,” Brian said, shaking his head. “You’ve got one, I’ve got one, Rog has got one.”

“I do, indeed,” Roger said, nodding. “So is this going to take much longer, or — ?”

“We’ve got  _ good  _ names,” Freddie told Brian in a tone that sounded sort of like he was correcting his bandmate, as if this were an obvious piece of information that everyone should already know. “I mean, I mean — Brian May. That’s a good name.”

“Thanks,” Brain sighed. 

“A great name!” said Freddie.

“ _ Thanks,  _ Fred,” Brian said, sounding like he was very much ready for this conversation to be over. 

“Like if I close my eyes and I hear the name Brian May…” Freddie leaned back in his chair, kicked his feet up on the table. “Say it, Roger,  _ say  _ it.”

“Erm — Brian May?” Roger said.

“ _ Ah! _ ” Freddie sighed. “I can see guitar strings glistening! I can hear beautiful music ringing in my ears!”

“Oh my god,” Brian sighed heavily, burying his face in his hands. 

Freddie took his feet off the table and he opened his eyes. He grinned as he clapped Roger on the shoulder. “Now, don’t even get me started on Roger Taylor.”

“That’s me,” Roger sighed. 

“That is a sexy fucking name,” said Freddie. “That is a  _ drummer’s  _ name. What do you think of when you hear Roger Taylor? You think ‘Wow, that name must belong to a  _ sexy drummer! _ ’ And my name! A fucking excellent name, it is. You hear a name like a Freddie Mercury and just think to yourself, ‘Yes!’”

“Okay, Fred,” Roger said.

“We get it,” Brian said. 

“Now think of the name John Deacon,” Freddie said. “What do you think of then?”

Roger thought of John beneath him, tipping his head back into the pillow with tears in his eyes, moaning desperately. 

Brian thought of the shirt John wore at his audition that day. It had flamingos on it. 

“You see what I mean, then,” Freddie said, looking proud.

“We can… discuss it another time,” Brain sighed. “So are we all in agreement, then? John should join the band?”

“We should vote on it,” Freddie suggested. “I vote yes.”

“It’s a yes from me, as well,” Brian said, nodding. “Rog?”

Roger wanted to be sick. John couldn’t have just sucked at the bass or something? 

Maybe Roger was wrong, after all. Maybe he was a terrible person. An awful, horrible man. 

He couldn’t believe this was happening, but thing was, Brian was right. They were desperate. They  _ needed  _ a bassist and they needed one fast. And the truth was, meeting John at the same time they needed a bassist  _ was  _ kind of like winning the lottery because he  _ was  _ very good.

Roger sighed inwardly, then shot his bandmates a crooked grin. “He’s in.” 

“Incredible!” Brian exclaimed. “Let’s hope he’s the last. I’m sick of this wild good chase for bassists, you know?”

Roger sighed. “Yeah.”

“Would you call him and let him know he’s in, Roger?” Brian asked.

“What?” Roger said. “Why me?”   
“Because you already knew him,” Brian said slowly. “And I only met him very briefly, we’ve only really spoken about the band and about him possibly auditioning, so I just assume you know him a little better than either of us do.”

“You know John, do you?” Freddie said, and then he hummed. “Yes, that makes sense. You two did seem rather…  _ familiar _ with one another last night.”

“What’s that even supposed to mean, Fred?” Roger snapped.

“It’s not supposed to  _ mean  _ anything,” Freddie defended. “It just seemed as if you two may have known one another.”

“If you don’t want to call it’s fine, Roger,” Brian amended, brow creased. “I just thought that —”

“No, no, it’s fine,” Roger said, his mind travelling about a mile per minute. He didn’t want his bandmates thinking that he had any sort of special connection to John, but he also wanted to talk things through with John and to do that he needed his phone number to be able to do that. “I just — I’ll call.”

Brian nodded. “Okay. Thank you.” He reached into his bag, pulled out the couple of papers John had filled out some information onto in order to audition for the band. “Here you are,” said Brian, sliding the one with John’s home phone number filled in near the top of the page. 

“Right, I’ll be off then,” Roger said. He snatched the paper up off the table, folded it, and shoved it in his back pocket. He pulled out a couple of bills and slapped them down on the table for Freddie and Brian to put toward the bill. “Night, lads.” 

“Goodnight, dear,” Freddie said, waving. 

“G’night, Rog,” said Brian. 

Roger broke into a run as soon as he’d said goodbye to Brian and Freddie. He only lived a few blocks away from the hole-in-the-wall restaurant they had chosen for their chat. Into his building and up the steps he went, kicking the front door of his apartment shut behind him. He hurried to his kitchen where his phone was placed on the wall next to the fridge. He snatched it up and placed it at his ear, holding it there using his shoulder. He yanked the paper that Brian had given him out of his pocket and held it against the wall. He dialed the number frantically and the call was picked up rather quickly; the phone only rang twice.

“Hello, John Deacon speaking.”

“It’s Roger.”

There was a beat of silence. “Hi,” said John. 

“Can you come over?” Roger asked. 

“Yeah,” said John. “Wait, am I in?”

Roger sighed. “Please, just come over.”

“Okay, yeah, but am I in the band?” John asked, voice shaking just a bit. 

“John,” Roger huffed. “We’ll talk when you get here, so just —”

“Roger,” John said in a small voice. “Please, tell me.” 

Roger frowned to himself, a little puzzled, but his sighed and yielded. “You’re — the vote says you’re in, John.”

John breathed out. “Right. Okay.”

Roger didn’t know what to make of that so he told John what his address was and he told him just to come in when he got there. “Don’t bother knocking,” he said, and when John told him that he wouldn’t, Roger hung up the phone and moved to the other side of the kitchen. 

“Not good, not good,  _ not good, _ ” Roger said to himself softly. This whole situation was very much Not Good and he all he wanted was for it all to go away. But it didn’t look like it was going to go away anytime soon; John was on his way, John was an official member of the band now, and Roger still couldn’t get that image out of his head, of John moaning and desperate beneath him. 

Roger busied himself with making some tea, hoping that would take his mind off of the matter at hand for a few minutes at least, but Roger had a heavy feeling weighing him down, like there were rocks in his chest. The whole thing, to Roger, felt a whole lot like Impending Doom. This situation might not be life or death but it  _ could  _ be if things got out of hand, if word got out. Yeah, maybe things weren’t as bad as they’d been ten years ago, but that didn’t mean that things were  _ good.  _ That didn’t mean that, if word got around, Roger wouldn’t get his ass handed to him in a back alleyway after any given Queen performance. 

The front door to the apartment opened and closed just as Roger was setting the tea out on the small table he had standing in the middle of his kitchen. He heard the door close and then a voice called quietly into the apartment, “Roger?”

“In here,” he replied. 

There were footsteps and then John appeared in the kitchen. “Hi,” he said softly. 

“Hello,” Roger said. “Erm, please. Sit.” He gestured to a chair and sank into the one opposite it. “I, uh — I made you tea.” 

John sat down, pulling the tea toward him with a smile. “Thank you,” he said.

An agonizingly awkward silence consumed the room. Roger sipped his tea, and so John did the same, and the silence persisted on. 

“So,” John said. “What do we do now?”

“I don’t know,” Roger sighed. “I — I really don’t know.”

John stared at his hands for a while, but then he looked up at Roger and said, “I’m really glad to made it into the band, you know.”

Roger raised his eyebrows. “You are?”   
“I have been feeling —” John’s eyes fell shut, “— so goddamn stuck. I like what I do, I like electrical engineering enough, it’s just —” his eyes flew open and he grinned excitedly. “I built this amp, this. Well, starting building it. Still needs some fine tuning. And I realized, like, there’s this whole world out there, this world of technology used to make  _ music.  _ I love  _ music,  _ but I didn’t pursue it. I didn’t study it in college because I convinced myself I’d never be able to get through all the classical stuff. I convinced myself I shouldn’t join another band because, well, there was no point! That’s what I told myself. Said I wouldn’t get anywhere, and my old man said it, too. And everything went so horribly wrong the last time, with my high school band…” John’s face fell, gaze cast downward. He sighed, shook his head, and looked back up at Roger once more. “But my friends dragged me to a party and I met your friend Brian and we got to talking, got to talking about music, and my friend, he said to Brian, ‘John plays bass.’ It just went from there, it all developed so fast, I didn’t have  _ time  _ to be scared that it’d end badly, like in high, or that I’d play for the band and they —  _ you  _ — would call me shit. Next thing I knew Brian had the venue and the time for your gig written down and he was handing it over and telling me I’d audition, telling me it’d be  _ amazing  _ — and I believed him! And then — and then —”

“And then I happened,” Roger said, frowning. 

“No,” John breathed. “No, and then I  _ did  _ it. I made it into the band. And I haven’t felt this happy in a really long time.”

Roger frowned a little deeper. 

“I love it,” John sighed, smiling, leaning back in his chair. “But I know I need to quit, I’ve got to tell Brian that I can’t do it…”

“What happened?” Roger asked.

John sat up straight and raised his eyebrows at Roger in question. “Elaborate, please?” he requested. 

“What happened with your band in high school?” Roger asked.

John sighed, sliding his hands down his face. “I — I was really out of it last week, after we — I said some things that I didn’t necessarily mean to say. Like, for instance, I told you that my friend and I blew each other in high school…”

“You did, yes,” Roger said, nodding. 

John sighed once more. “He — well — we were both pretty repressed. Scared of what might happen if anyone ever —” he paused, drew in a shaky breath. “But my parents were out for the night and there’d been, erm,  _ tension _ between me and my best friend of the time, one of the other members of the band —”

“Sexual tension?” Roger questioned, eyebrows quirked upward, his tone almost playful. He cringed inwardly.  _ Not the time, Rog,  _ he scolded himself.  

John huffed out a humorless laugh. “Yeah.  _ Sexual  _ tension. And my parents were out, and he was over, and we broke into the liquor cabinet, and —” he sighed. “We were wasted. Really and truly  _ wasted.  _ I was just fifteen, I’d never been drunk before, and I was so far gone. He was sixteen, he went partying every weekend. He knew what he was doing, knew how to hold his alcohol, is what I’m getting at. One minute we were talking, just laughing and being dumb, next minute we were sitting really close. Next thing I know, he’s on his back and I’m on top of him and we’re kissing and — and then our pants were on the floor and —” John paused, his face having gone bright red. “Well, you get the picture.”

“Okay… and?” Roger said, eyebrows raised expectantly. 

“And… we… you know…” John shifted uncomfortably. 

“No, I mean, what happened after all that?” Roger asked. “You said something went horribly wrong. With the band?” 

John frowned. “Well, my friend, he left the band after that. Just up and quit. I tried to talk to him about it but he pushed me away, he avoided me. And then — I mean, of course… I assumed that he left because of, you know, what happened between us. But he wouldn’t talk to me. I couldn’t  _ ask  _ him.”

“Right,” Roger said, nodding. 

“But I kept trying,” John sighed. “I persisted.”

“Of course you did,” Roger said in a tone that neither of them could place, so they both ignored the fact that he’d said anything at all. 

“Yeah, well, he finally talked to me,” John said. “Didn’t have much of a choice. I cornered him at school one day, during lunch, and he told me that he’d had to quit because he couldn’t risk being found out…”

Roger dropped his gaze to his hands quickly. 

“But then,” John said, heaving a heavy sigh, “he decided he was going to talk to the rest of the band. And he told them — he said that he’d left because I made a pass at him.”

Roger’s head snapped back up, eyes narrowing. “He  _ what?! _ ”

“Yeah,” John said, nodding. He avoided meeting Roger’s gaze. “So the rest of them… left? No. They kicked me out of the band, really.”

“That’s shit!” Roger exclaimed angrily. “That’s such fucking shit! He — he —”

“He was  _ scared, _ Roger,” John sighed. “I was angry, I was  _ distraught,  _ for long enough. I’ve learned to look at it from his side. He was scared.”

“We’re all scared,” Roger spat. “But that doesn’t mean we go and —”

“I know,” John said. “So, what do we do now?” he asked again.

Roger considered this for barely a moment before asking John, “Do you smoke?”

“Sometimes, but I’ve already had a cigarette today,” John said. “I shouldn’t have another one.”

Roger chuckled. “I wasn’t talking about cigs, John.”

“Oh?” John said, puzzled. Then it hit him. “Oh! You mean weed. Uh, yeah, from time to time.”

Roger nodded once. “Great,” he said, and smacked his hand down on the table. “Follow me.” He hopped to his feet, left his tea behind, and went to his bedroom. John followed closely behind him. 

Roger flopped himself down on his front on his bed and reached over to his bedside table, dragging the drawer open. He produced a blue glass pipe and a Ziploc bag filled up a third of the way with marijuana. “Can you look and see if there’s a lighter on the dresser over there?” he asked, opening up the bag and beginning to pack the bowl. 

“Yeah,” said John. He crossed room and rifled around through the clutter on the dresser until he found the little thing, bringing it to Roger who was already finished setting the weed firmly in place. 

Roger took the lighter from him and thanked him. He held out the pipe to John and when the younger man didn’t take it swiftly from him, he asked, “Are you good?”

“Yeah, I’m fine, I just, uh —” John slowly accepted the pipe from Roger, “— I’ve just only ever smoked a joint, is the thing? I don’t know how to light this.” 

“I’ve got you covered,” Roger said, waving away John’s worries with his hand as if they flew around like gnats in midair. “Just hold like this, okay?” he said, repositioning John’s fingers for him. “And then put it to your mouth — uh-huh, good — and now suck in,” he instructed, so John did, and Roger rolled the spark will, watching the flame come to life. He held the flame to the bowl, circling it a couple of times, then he let go and allowed the flame to die. “Right now move your thumb off of that hole, keep breathing in —” Roger watched John do just as he was told to do, watched as he put space between his lips and the pipe, as he breathed in, took the smoke into his lungs, then exhaled the cloud through parted lips that Roger would never admit that he was staring at. He could have admitted to it a week ago, but not now. Everything had changed.

Roger took a hit from pipe, breathing it in deeply, holding it there, and then letting it go into the air. “Think you can light it for yourself this time?” he asked John, handing the pipe back over to him,

“Um,” John said, accepting the pipe and the lighter, as well. “I can certainly try,” he said, and try he did, but he wound up burning his thumb on the flame so Roger took the lighter away from him. “Sorry,” John said, blushing. 

“It’s alright,” Roger assured him, lighting the bowl so John could take another hit. Then Roger took a hit. They went on like so, passing the bowl back and forth, Roger always the one flicking the little wheel and bringing forth the fire to light the weed. Back and forth they went until they’d smoked the bowl, leaving only ash at the bottom. 

Roger slid off the bed, tossing the lighter back into the pile of clutter where it had sat a little while earlier atop the dresser. He wasn’t stumbling just yet, but he walked slowly — painfully slowly — to the bathroom where he emptied the remnants of marijuana into the rubbish bin. He took a Q-tip, then, from a drawer, and cleaned out the little glass pipe. Then, when he was returning to his bedroom, he  _ had  _ begun to stumble. 

John was on his knees on the bed, leaning back against his heels. His head was tipped back and he was just gazing up at the cracked lamp that hung from the ceiling. 

“You good?” Roger asked. 

John only hummed, but Roger noticed, as he grew closer to him, that a smile tugged at his lips. Then, for no apparent reason, John’s eyes fell shut and he giggled.

Roger thought to himself that John was cute when he giggled. Then he thought to himself that John was cute, regardless of what he was doing. 

_ Fuck,  _ he thought next. 

Yeah, he was definitely really fucking high. He decided so before flopping down against his pillows with a sharp exhale. 

“Mm, Roger?” John said slowly. 

“Yeah, John?” Roger said. 

“Since I’m not going to join the band,” John said, even slower this time, “that means we could, like… sleep together again, yeah?”

Roger bit his lip. Some part of his mind told him that this logic was flawed, but he couldn’t quite put his finger on it. “You’re — you’re not going to join the, uh, the band?”

“No,” John sighed, the word long and drawn out on his lips, and he shook his head. “I  _ want _ to — God, I want to so so  _ so  _ bad — but, um… um… I, uh — wouldn’t do that to you. I’m not going to waltz on in and — and just, like, impose in on your life, yeah?”

Roger blinked.

This logic was flawed.

He couldn’t figure out just what it was. He could not put his finger on it.

John was cute, regardless of what he was doing. 

“C’mere,” Roger said and so John did. He climbed up the bed, wobbling a little, and then he was on top of the blonde. Roger was kissing him and he was kissing Roger, and then their clothes were shed and they were rutting against each other. Everything seemed to be so fluid, one movement to the next —  _ easy.  _

Roger worked John opened earnestly, his fingers all sloppy and wet but neither of them could find a reason to care. John rocked back against Roger’s hand, eager to take his fingers deeper, seeking out some sort of release.

“‘M good,” John panted.

“Lie back,” Roger said in an almost urgent tone. 

“Wait,” John said sharply.

“Yeah?” Roger said, a little panicked.

“Can I, uh — can I ride you?” John asked hopefully, his head falling sideways, ear pressed to his shoulder.

Roger huffed out a little breath as he grinned. “Yeah,” he said, nodding. “ _ Yeah. _ ” 

John matched his grin. He placed one knee on either side of Roger’s hips while Roger spit into his hand and stroked his dick and hard a fast to make sure all would go over smoothly. 

John  lowered himself slowly, slipping his hands into Roger’s sleek hair. He tips his head back, a long moan escaping his lips. Roger’s hands rested on his lower back, thumb moving in slow circles just about his ass; he looked up into John’s face, so lost in bliss, so beautiful it made Roger’s breath hitch. John rolled his hips in time with the small circles Roger traced with his thumb. 

John began moving slowly, crying out into the barely lit room. Moonlight poured through the window, sending streaks of silvery light across John’s face. The stripes of moonlight shifted as John did, as he moved up and down, up and down. 

Roger moved his hands from John’s lower back to sit at his hips and he gripped them tightly. He panted loudly as he assisted John in moving up and down, up and down, faster now than a few moments previous. They didn’t speak for a long while; the only sounds filling the room were that of skin slapping skin blended with deep, guttural moans that harmonized with high pitched ones but those sounds, they filled Roger’s shabby little bedroom like the grandest symphony in the world. 

“Fuck!” John cried when, together, they managed to angle Roger’s cock just so  — “There!” he said, head thrown back, hands only then dropping from Roger’s hair to hold onto his shoulders for support, for leverage. “There there  _ there! _ ” he babbled, moving faster. 

“You gonna come?” Roger whined, moaning a little too high for his liking but fuck if he cared in that moment. He leaned in, deliberately lowered his voice as he asked, “Gonna come for me, Deacon?” His voice was gravelly in John’s ear and in that moment, John went flying over the edge, painting his and Roger’s stomachs white. 

Roger followed him over that cliffside. In that moment, Roger would have followed him anywhere. 

***

Roger woke, reaching for a warm body and finding only his bedsheet. 

His eyes flew open, sitting bolt upright. “John?” he called. He traced the stretch of sheet beside him with his fingertips — still warm, he noted. 

With the duvet wrapped around him like a robe, Roger leapt from his bed and out of the room. He burst into his kitchen just as John was setting down a pencil beside the note he’d just written out and left on the table.

“Oh,” John said, obviously taken aback. “H-hi. Good morning. I hope you don’t, uh, mind that I went, you know, looking. For a pencil and paper, I mean. Didn’t want to leave without saying goodbye, but I also didn’t want to wake you.” 

“John,” Roger said.

“Roger,” John said. 

  
“You’re not gonna quit the band,” Roger said.

John’s eyes grew wide. “What?”

Roger sighed, running his hands over his face. “Look, I — last night when you were talking about how happy it made you to, like, get into Queen, have this chance to be a part of the band… I was feeling pretty lost, too, a couple years back. And maybe I still am, but that’s not the point! I met Bri and I joined Smile and things got  _ better.  _ Tim left us and I was devastated because I thought, ‘Here we go again’ but we found Freddie. Making music, being a part of this band, being a part of something that could be bigger than just me — that’s pulled my life together. That’s — that’s mapped out a course for me, helped me feel a little less like I’m lost. And you’re good, John, you’re  _ really  _ fucking good. And we’re not exactly swimming in bassists.” 

“But all that’s happened between us this past week,” John said slowly, “you’ve made it quite clear that you don’t want your bandmates finding out about it.”

Roger’s mind screamed. Mentally he was kicking and punching angrily, trying to find a way out, screaming at himself for what he was about to do.

“I don’t,” Roger said, shaking his head. “So they won’t. What’s the big deal, right? All we’ve got to do is  _ not tell them. _ ”

His Logic brain believed it, a hundred percent. Brian and Freddie didn’t know  _ everything  _ about him, he was able to keep some parts of himself hidden away, so why not this one? But his Anxiety brain told him to stop, told him to run, told him to hide from John Deacon and make sure to never see him ever again. 

John slipped his hands into the pockets of his jeans, shoulders hunched over just a little bit. “You were singing quite a different tune the other night at the bar.”

“Yeah, well, I’ve had time to think on it,” Roger said. “And I realize, now, that I was wrong. That there’s no reason for you to not do what you love, what you’re good at, because really, how’re they ever gonna know?” 

_ No no no no no no no no!  _ screamed his Anxiety brain. 

But the seed was sown. 

“So... I’m in?” John asked slowly, daring to let himself have a smile. 

“You’re in,” Roger said, and in spite of the war that raged on inside his mind, he grinned. “John Deacon, welcome to Queen.” 


End file.
